Regrouping
by Burkoski
Summary: Greg decides to take a moment out of his emotional angst to regroup and think about what exactly just happened in the past two days. (Slash)
1. 1

A/N: This is a little bit of a bigger fic that I was working on a little while ago. Basically all you need to know is that the love of Greg's last six months is found dead, in an ironic orgy pile, and Nick takes it upon himself to comfort him and play the Superman role.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of CSI, those belong to CBS and the producers, creators, actors, writers and directors. I just play with them for non-profit fun.

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Regrouping

It never takes much to wake me up, but for one reason or another I was out like a light as soon as Nick started driving away from my place. Call it emotional stress, call it comfort and security, call it whatever you want because I sure have no clue.

I woke up sometime later, staying curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed I was in with dried tears flowing from my eyes to my ears, nose and neck, from what I could only assume where nightmares since I don't remember it at all. At least I think it was sometime later. Even though the early morning sun was shining through the window, it felt as if I didn't sleep at all.

'So Greg, let's regroup,' I thought to myself, lips moving along with the words. 'Sam is dead. Nick's in full Superhero role right now. He swabbed every opening that you had for DNA…that could have been slightly kinky if it was under different circumstances. Wait. What are you thinking? Your lover - boyfriend - is dead.' I somehow managed to pull myself into a sitting position, my sore back resting against the headboard, during that rambling. 'You're never going to be able to do anything with him again. He's not going to be able to kiss you again, especially that spot on your neck that makes you wild. You're never going to be able to hear him talk again. You're…just never again.'

That seemed like a good idea to me right at that moment. Never again. Don't go to 'parties' ever again, don't go for the bad boys again, and most importantly: don't love again. That way I couldn't get hurt.

I saw a note on the bedside table, and even though I couldn't read it from all the way over here in the centre of the bed, my natural curiosity over took me and I just needed to get distracted at the moment.

And it was addressed to me, by Nick. Why the hell does he call me 'Greggo' anyway? Maybe the man is just a big fan of frozen breakfast foods. Even though it was completely weird in everyway, I sort of liked it. Plus, it reminded me that the world didn't consist of just me and every ache in my body and mind at the moment. I definitely wouldn't have given myself such a…well, that nickname.

As I finished reading it my fingers were running through my hair. Crunchy with a touch of grease. I was filthy, in ever sense of the word.

I took the letter with me, feeling as if I was on some sort of twisted scavenger hunt with a few images of last night flying here and there, as I set out to find the bathroom. Taking no time at all to survey my surroundings or peer behind closed doors, I got the bathroom on the second shot (the first one being used up on a broom closet).

I completely engrossed myself in the cleansing process, brushing my teeth for far too long, but still tasting whisky and cough syrup, and using up all of the hot water just standing underneath it.

While I stood in the shower I eyed every sharp object and chemical in sight, thinking of dramatic ways to end my life right then and there. Razors were too over used. Shampoo? Well, if it didn't kill me that would just seriously fuck up my stomach for life. I don't even know if shampoo will do the trick. I was sure that there was bleach around the place somewhere. Or maybe I could just shove a stick of dynamite down my throat and then…

The sudden burst of cold water made me lose my train of thought.

With a towel wrapped around my waist I made my way back to Nick's room, feeling only a little bad about the path of water that dripped off of me all the way there, and started to rummage through his closet. The note was still in my hand and consulted it. About the same size? Yeah, right. Same height, maybe. But Nick was bigger, and in a very good way.

Okay, I was doing it again. My boyfriend just died. No need to have these thoughts…again. But it's distracting. I need distraction right now.

I settled on a pair of shorts and old University sweatshirt. I don't think I had ever even seen Nick wear shorts before. Only black shirts, occasionally navy blue, and jeans. Sometimes black pants. It was comfortable at any rate.

Soon I found myself on his couch, waiting like a puppy for his Master to return. I didn't feel like coffee and I was pretty sure that any food that I ate would soon be found in the toilet with my head leaning over it.

I had a few weeks off of work and sure, I needed the time to get over Samuel but what was I suppose to do between the bursts of tears and anger?

This quiet time on Nick's couch let me formulate a plan on how to act. I had practically invited myself over here and used all his hot water. The least I can do is not act like a blubbering fool. A false front sounded like a good idea to me. All I had to do was be normal, weird, crazy Greg and shove any bad emotions deep inside while around Nick. That's it.

I even toyed with the idea of just calling a cab and heading somewhere else, maybe a hotel. But my wallet and clothes were now in brown bags with labels, leaving me stranded. Plus, Nick did say to stay at his house for a couple of nights. The least I could do is wait until he got home and see how it went from there.

Thanks to this little experiment of Sam's tonight not only will every blood sample and hair have his face on it, but every strand of DNA will bring back the images of an incredibly awkward Nick swabbing me.

Awkward was the perfect way to describe it because how could it not be awkward? 'Hi, I'm sorry your boyfriend was just brutally murdered. Mind if I run a Q-tip up and down your cock?' It had to be done, though. I was the one caught with their pants down, so to speak, and everyone else at the party were being complete assholes. Fully clothed assholes.


	2. 2

A/N: It's really hard to find little pieces of a bigger fic to update with. But hopefully this isn't too confusing and as soon as I get the other parts beta-ed and all the chapter breaks worked out and all that fun stuff I'll switch this all around so it makes sense and all that fun stuff. And don't forget that this is still from Greg's POV.

The Obligatory Dream Sequence

There I was. In some sort of perverted labyrinth and half expecting a creature, half man and half bull, to pop out of the wall and eat me alive. Starting with my eyes, tearing the flesh off my bones and beating heart, sucking the cartilage out of my joints before finally sinking its teeth into my small intestine and slurping it up like spaghetti.

Except the walls were crying. They were crying silently and tearlessly.

And I started to walk, to find my way somehow out of this fucking thing, taking rights and lefts and jogging in circles. Walking turned to jogging and everything was quickly turning shades of green, as if my eyes had night vision goggles attached to the lenses. And the crying turned into screams of pure agony and loss.

A ceiling appeared where previously there was a starry night, slowly dropping as if some sort of almighty power set out that night just to pin me to the ground. Soon I had to crawl as fast as I could on my hands and knees, then slither like a snake until I could feel the stainless steel press against my back and crush the wind out of-

The beginning of the maze again. This time I set off running in the opposite direction as last time, panting. My heart felt too big for my chest and it seemed as if I inhaled barbed wire somewhere along the way.

This time the walls weren't crying. They were laughing a happy melody and as I looked up there was still the steel ceiling, but this time it played every moment I would ever put under the 'good' category with Samuel and I. The night when we first met on The Strip and he had lost his car keys and asked if I could break into his car for him. Of course I had no idea, but I pretended like I did until he grew impatient and called a locksmith. That time I watched him play black jack during his lunch break at the casino. The first time we made love, not just fucking but made actual love.

Happiness, glee, romance…

And then there he was, as I turned a corner and came to a dead end. Surrounded by pills and used condoms, an empty water bottle shoved through his throat, knee impressions sinking into his chest until I was sure I could see ribs and black lungs, with smoke still floating out of them.

I woke up. Screaming. Shaking. Crying.

"Greg! Are you okay?" Nick asked from across the bed. Great, I woke him up. I had practically insisted on sleeping in the bed with him and I woke him up.

The only thing I wanted to do was roll up into a and cry, but that would betray the rule I made for myself earlier. Only light emotions around Nick. So instead I blinked too much, forcing the tears back inside.

"Just a little nightmare, honest," I said with a weak smile when in all honesty it wasn't little in anyway at all. I had been crushed and saw my ex, who's still probably laying on Doc Robbins' slab with the 'Y' cut still fresh.

I was lost in thought, replaying scenes of my dream over and over again in my mind, until I was shaken out of it by Nick rubbing my arm. I don't know what I'd be doing if I weren't in his bed right then and there.

Suddenly I knew what I wanted. Maybe it was the fact that the man who I loved for six months just died. Maybe it was because I was already half asleep. Maybe it was the warm feeling flowing through my veins from the hot chocolate that Nick gave me before. But Nick was strong. Maybe he could make me strong too.

And he smelled good, even though a scent that just him was masked by a million shampoo chemicals and agents and the latex was gone.

Without asking or even thinking, I pulled his arm around me and snuggled against his chest. If he really had a problem with it he could bitch slap me in the morning, but right now all I wanted to sleep and be protected.

…Now here's when things get really weird. Weird in the sense that it was the last thing I ever thought that I'd do.

I woke up before him and you know how sometimes you wake up without opening your eyes? Well, that's what I did. Big mistake on my part, but I had a dreamless sleep so when my mind awoke and felt the feeling of arms around me and my nose buried in a neck I just assumed that everything that happened the day before was just a horrible dream. To me, reality was that Sam wasn't dead and he was here with me just…being.

Thinking I would wake him up in an unbelievably cute manner, I tilted my head and started to kiss the neck in front of me. Kisses turned to light bites, and from the way he shifted his body against mine I could tell that he was enjoying it. Everything was wonderful again.

Except that I couldn't remember Sam ever tasting this way. And I was almost sure that his arms where never this strong, neither was his chest.

At that I opened my eyes painfully. I wasn't in Samuel's bed, and I sure the hell wasn't with Samuel.

"Been paragliding lately, Nick?" I said with a goofy smile on my face, vainly attempting to change the subject.


End file.
